"Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly As mine and Albert's common Foster-mother. FOSTER-MOTHER. Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, That joined your names with mine! O my sweet lady, When you two little ones would stand at eve you had learnt in the day; and how to talk In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you— 'Tis more like heaven to come than what has been. MARIA. O my dear Mother! this strange man has left me She gazes idly!—But that entrance, Mother! FOSTER-MOTHER. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! No one. MARIA. FOSTER-MOTHER. My husband's father told it me, Poor old Leoni!—Angels rest his soul! He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel? Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, And reared him at the then Lord Velez' cost. And so the babe grew up a pretty boy, A pretty boy, but most unteachable And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead, But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes, And whistled, as he were a bird himself: And all the autumn 'twas his only play To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them With earth and water, on the stumps of trees. A Friar, who gathered simples in the wood, A grey-haired man-he loved this little boy, The boy loved him—and, when the Friar taught, him, He soon could write with the pen and from that time Lived chiefly at the Convent or the Castle. So he became a very learned youth. But Oh! poor wretch!—he read, and read, and read, "Till his brain turned-and ere his twentieth year, He had unlawful thoughts of many things: And though he prayed, he never loved to pray But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him. A fever seized him, and he made confession Of all the heretical and lawless talk Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized And wander up and down at liberty. He always doted on the youth, and now His love grew desperate: and defying death, ᎷᎪᎡᏆᎪ. 'Tis a sweet tale: Such as would lull a listening child to sleep, And what became of him? FOSTER-MOTHER. He went on ship-board With those bold voyagers, who made discovery ! |